


heat, light and solitude

by goldstraw



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Inspired by Art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:45:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldstraw/pseuds/goldstraw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maggie drew her lovely head canon here - http://tinyurl.com/qz7xkne - and I wrote something for it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	heat, light and solitude

Both had lost track of the days, of how long it had been since they had decided to pass a night, then another and another at the cottage they’d stumbled on – hidden and unhurt somewhere in the bad lands. They both knew that time was slowly ticking by, the sun coming up later and setting earlier everyday but they had no impetus to move on, not really. It felt like they’d come to somewhere important, even though it was not. That it was valuable for a reason, even though it was of little worth. It had given them what they’d needed the most: shelter, rest and peace. Though neither of them believed in magic, not after everything, it seemed as if this place was just that. Left untouched by previous occupants, thatched roof watertight, food enough, it was a find that neither wanted to leave.

The stillness and the quietness of the place drugged them, seeped through them and as the time passed, the horrors they’d seen sunk beneath the waves. They spoke little; sat near the fire in the hearth when it rained, brought up their faces to the sky when it shone and then when it snowed. Their wounds were tended to, patched and bandaged carefully. It had been touch and go since they’d caught the edges of too many swords in their travels, fevered nights and wan days watched over by worried eyes and made easier with gentle touches.

They slept for long hours, engrained exhaustion dragging them down. The room had no bed, but a pile of straw fashioned into one in front of the fire did them well enough. One was always asleep before the other joined them – both determined that there was no real thought behind the decision, but the blushes on cheeks and glances that lingered too long told of a different reason.  It had been just the two of them for so long, fallen knights with a promise to fulfil, that the end of their quest disturbed their closeness, set it on a new unexplored path of which neither knew anything of.   Whatever filled the air as they moved around each other during those days stopped suddenly when either opened their mouths. A lack of words to even attempt an explanation? Perhaps. A reluctance to break the spell? That too. Confusion, a fear of dreadful misunderstanding, a shyness – they all played a part.

Despite their best efforts, the silence they avowedly kept to fed the tension, bore and nurtured the beast. It became well fed indeed, its nature not being one to suffer fools gladly or be taken in by shows of enforced obliviousness with a great patience.  Now as both lay on that pile of straw in front of the dying fire, it teased them with vivid possibilities, offering on an outstretched hand a chance of hope and even happiness if either would be so bold.  It crept into their minds, turning their thoughts to what would happen if it should be lost, if it was to disappear. It pricked their hearts and made them feel the pain and the purity of what lay between them.

Brienne knew from Jaime’s breathing behind her that he was not asleep. He would know she was not asleep either. But she kept her eyes closed anyway against the flames, her back turned, her body separate from him under the blankets. She could not do anything else though she felt not in the slightest tired. Every muscle was on guard, every cell waiting for Jaime to stir, to brush against her. But he too was lying excessively still, with a carefulness that made this night different from all the others. Where had their ignorance gone, their disregard of all that was expected to happen between a man and a woman?

 A shiver went through her despite the musty warmth, a coolness of upset at something so precious to her having changed. She’d been able to put her worries on hold when they reached this place but now they buffeted against her, smarting and stinging. She felt totally unprepared about what was to come after this dear interlude ended, for all things ended, didn’t they? What future lay ahead for them, in the gathering winter, with foes outnumbering the good by ten to one? Who would rule this broken land… who could?

As her thoughts overwhelmed her, Jaime took a breath and sighed.

“What troubles you, wench?”

He spoke to the rafters, his words appearing large in the air.  It was such a big question that Brienne was made mute as the words rained down.

In the silence, Jaime realised he would not get an answer. He knew that the moment he spoke. The girl was not apt to expressing herself without necessity and they’d barely said two words to each other for days. He turned on his side, his injured arm stiffly propping him up. With the other hand, he reached for her shoulder.

“What is it that makes you so afraid?” he said as loud as he dared. She flinched but it did not deter him.  “Will you tell me or are you to suffer alone?”

She still did not turn, but her voice – quiet and small as it was – reached him.

“I fear that _we_ —“ the word caught in her throat and broke his heart— “ _we_ will not see the end of this war.”

He watched her clench her jaw, her eyes tight shut against the tragedy.

“ _Brienne_ —“

He thought he meant to remonstrate with her, but her name on his lips made his intention change course; an arrow catching the edge of a breeze, a jolt to his sword, a pocket of mist on a battlefield. He could not be angry with her because he, undeniably, feared the same future.  His fingers clenched hard on her taught muscles: _I understand_ , they said. _I cannot bear the thought_ , they cried.

An unexpected echo in the room made itself known as if his intentions had been spoken out loud: her hand appeared on his, her long fingers trailing round his wrist. He could feel, as she did too, the living heat of skin and flesh. The weight of her hand on his was a comfort almost too much to bear; a touch not accidental or done with a pragmatic end, but because there was a need, a desperate need. Slowly – but there were no means to stop him – he turned his palm upwards so there was a roughness against a different roughness, of two journeys met and matched, his fingers pulling back to catch hers and encase them.

All this Brienne let happen. And because she did not pull away, he knew that it was her desire too. He gazed at the fierce grasp they had of each other, missing the moment her eyes flickered open. Then her fingers were gone, but something better replaced them. _Astonishing eyes_. He had looked into them often enough – in anger and despair, with treachery and humility, through pain and joy – to find there was more, so much more to them than the sapphire colour that marked them as outstanding.

She lay under his gaze with familiar steadfastness, giving him permission to stare and stare. She was still, a muscle just pulling at the corner of her lip where the scar of her encounter with Biter ended. As he passed the backs of his fingers across it, he remembered her screams as he poured boiling wine on it, her choked down whimpers when he dressed it. He saw the bright pink flesh turn a mottled colour, tight and uncomfortable. Regret still burnt low in his chest at not being there to fight and kill the villain who did it. But his touch was not rage-filled, nor was his focus on the injury. No, his eyes were only caught by the brightest of blues and red lips that were hot with breath, hot with blood.  

“ _Jaime—“_ Her voice came abruptly and laden with emotion, her eyes suddenly filled as quenching oases in bleached deserts.  “What lies ahead for us? I mean to say…I-I should tell you how I—” She stopped short, her words already at a whisper. “I-I cannot find the words to explain,” she muttered, head dipping away.

His fingers trailed over her jaw, bringing her attention back to him. “I think it well enough known by you and I that we cannot pass another day with _this_ between us—“ He shrugged, finding himself also unable to speak the feelings that sparked so violently once given a flame. “It would take a man with a very cold heart not to sense it, nor understand it—“

“You feel it too?” she asked, breathless.  Her eyes were wide with poorly hidden hope.

“ _Yes_ —“ Her innocence was irresistible, even as it nearly made him roll his eyes— “ _Yes._ Brienne, such things do not grow alone, not of such depth.” He took a breath, finding the weight that had lain on his chest for so long lifted and gone. “ _I am yours._ For as long as this world will have us.”

She looked at him with awe for a moment before biting her lip and reaching a hand to his cheek. There was hesitation in her movement, a tremble that he felt the moment before her palm touched him.  As she murmured that she was his too, he turned his face to press a kiss to her unsure caress, sealing their futures with conviction. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback makes me me squee wildly!


End file.
